Tentang Kicauan
Tentang Aidilfitri II
Tentang Aidilfitri
On Nothingness
Tentang Malam Kekuasaan / On The Night of Power
Tentang Perjalanan
Aku berjalan merempuhi gelap
Mengharungi sunyi malam keqidaman
Mengikrarkan suatu keEsaan
Alam sunyi senyap.
Aku berjalan melangkau sempadan
Menuju medantarung dunia
Cahaya bingit memecah suasana
Alam penuh rontaan.
Aku berjalan bertatih perlahan
Merebut seulas kasih sayang
Cahaya pagi gilang cemerlang
Seri tiada kilan.
Aku berjalan menghambat dunia
Tegarbugar hidup remaja
Menyelami selautan jutawarna
Tawa tiada duka.
Aku berjalan tegap perkasa
Menggarap erti hidup dewasa
Meneguk asamgaram penuh rona
Alam penuh pancaroba.
Kini aku berjalan mulai gagap
Remang senja makin melebar
Binarmata pun makin memudar -
Aku masih enggan lenyap!
On Work as Identity
We live in an age where “meritocracy” is an accepted coin of the realm. Many of us believe that the just desserts of life – success, money, prosperity – rightly go to those who are seen to have deserved their rewards through education and hard work.
Unlike medieval times, when social roles are assigned to us at birth, and social mobility is limited to a lucky few, or only in rare times of unexpected social upheaval, we take it almost for granted that our rise and fall are something that we deserve to get out of our own efforts.
It is only in the past decade or so, in the aftermath of the global financial crisis and the travails of younger members of society, struggling to afford their own homes or earn a decent salary, that we begin to see that the modern regime of meritocracy can be a facade that disguises the many ways in which privilege can still decide the outcomes of many lives in our society.
We no longer live in an age where a moneyed class can inherit all their wealth, and enjoy lives of dissipated leisure. But it is still true that wealth can afford the best education, afford backdoor access into the best universities through benefactions and alumni networks, afford hard-fought slots in corporate internships that lead to high-flying jobs, and afford the rising costs of healthcare and old age living. It is still true that poverty can keep too many of us in chains which are very hard to break, dragging the unfortunate ones down in poorly-funded schools, in ravaged neighhbourhoods, in crime and in constant lack of economic security.
For those few who are lucky enough to have risen through the gates of meritocracy – succeeding in public school examinations, matriculating into the best universities, making it into high-paying elite jobs – it is easy to come to identify oneself primarily with one’s signal achievements in school and at work.
For many years, it mattered to me what the words on my business card would say, the validation of being in a high-powered role or in a well-respected company. I would even use my business cards as bookmarks, occasionally brandishing them as I am reading, silently glorying in this little piece of existential affirmation, like Gollum and his “precious”.
It took me a while to realise that work is but one facet of a life well lived. Yes, one needs to earn a living, but there is infinitely more to life than a paycheque, or the baubles and possessions that we surround ourselves with through the fruits of our daily work. As Kat would say, you gotta find your own organic interests.
I am also reminded of this quote, from a story told by author Toni Morrison. When she complained to her father about her work, cleaning other people’s homes, her father replied,
“Listen. You don’t live there. You live here. With your people. Go to work. Get your money. And come on home.”
This year, as I am hitting 45, I realise that for many of my peers, this time is the primetime for our economically-earning lives. Some of my friends, people who I used to know in university or in my early years as a fresh graduate, are now Ministers and CEOs, high-flying corporate lawyers and well-respected consultants and bankers. I am not doing too badly myself, but I will freely admit that I had greater expectations for how 45 was going to greet me.
But, like Pip in that Dickensian tale of love and ambition and dashed hopes, I know now that work is but one part of who I am, and I also know now that my mission in these years remaining is to make the most of who I am and what I can be, before I am ready to come on home.
Tentang Ufuk Jingga
Pada wajah ufuk jingga itu aku pahatkan
Suatu doa kudus yang sarat dengan harapan
Aka ikrarkan padaMu wahai Rabbul Jalal
Betapa rasa syukur ini membuak tebal
Telah Kau kurniakan semua kesenangan ini
Yang selama ini aku terima tanpa banyak rasa peduli
Menginsafi - terpacullah kalimah alhamdulillah
Membisikkan rafak sembah dalam nafas lelah -
Kalau mungkin ini kali penghabisan akhir
Pada rona mataku ufuk jingga ini terzahir
Kau ambillah nyawa ini dengan tulus cermat
Aku pasrah mangkat mengharap rahmat.
Tentang Rerautan Wajahmu
Pada rerautan wajahmu itu
Terukir seribu penderitaan
Seumur dirundung pencelaan
Suatu penyeksaan yang jitu
Setiap garis terpahat kemas
Mencatat setiap penghinaan
“Apakah aku yang kekurangan?” -
ratib sang jiwa yang lemas
Sedu sedan kau redamkan
Berbuku dalam cembul sunyi
Tersekam nyalaan mahangeri
“Aku bukan milikmu lagi.”
On This Ramadan Evening (Thoughts on the 20th of Ramadan)
As I am writing this, it is the 20th night of Ramadan, and I have just completed my Tarawih prayers for the evening.
“Would you say this is the best Ramadan you’ve ever had, yang?” Kat looked up at me, asking casually.
I thought about that question, and I am compelled to answer: Yes. I am not sure if this is the best ever, but certainly the best Ramadan that I can remember in years. I am keeping to the Tarawih prayers, every night, mostly at home. I have been keeping pace with my Quran recitation, and I feel calmer than I have felt in a long, long time.
The Quran recitation, I think, has a lot to do with the latter. This year, like most of the Ramadans I can remember over the past decade or so, I made the promise to myself that I would try to recite the Quran in full – to khatam the entire Book by the end of Ramadan. And most years, I would keep pace for maybe the first week, before the full blast of work deadlines and buka puasa invites and moreh gatherings would derail me by around the second week of the fasting month.
This year so far, Alhamdulillah, it has been good. It is the night of the 20th, and I am halfway through the 24th juz of the Quran. And more than just the momentum – I feel a serenity and a palpable sense of flow these nights of Ramadan as I recite the Quran. My Arabic is barely serviceable, but I know enough to make a guess of what it is I am reading – but even when I don’t, the very act of reciting the Quran fills me with a sense of wonder and grace.
As I recite each verse, I feel myself almost floating on a breeze, my tone rising and dipping and rising again to a crescendo as I reach the end of this verse, or at the start of that other verse. At times, my recitation feels like a horse at a brisk gallop, my enunciation almost breathlessly trying to keep up with flow of His Words. At other times, I whisper the words in a low hush, just luxuriating in the melody of the words, many of which sometimes I can barely understand, with my rudimentary command of the language. Sometimes, I hear myself reading the words and I try to imagine how it must have been for the earliest Muslims, to hear this strange music and to know, in their heart of hearts, that what they were hearing was something truly Eternal.
Every year, I am told that we are supposed to make the best of the final ten nights of Ramadan – a final coup de grace to this most revered of months. I am seeing now, though dimly as if through a haze, that feeling of bittersweet embrace, knowing that I am here in the final ten nights and that the sands of Ramadan will soon run out, not to return for another year. InshaAllah, the hope is to make the most of it, before Ramadan comes to an end.